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Webbonso soulmates au please?

What type of Soulmate AU, rather classic with the names or the threads, or more "fanciful", with for example the fact of seeing oneself through one's dreams? because Soulmate AU is rather vast

It's just a request for clarification, because I don't want you to realise at the end that it's not what you expected 😅

Original picture :

For all RBR's haters !

May I request Brazil 2003 inspired fic where fernando's injuries were worse than it was and since mark indirectly caused fernando's crash he felt extreme guilt and worry as he tried to help fernando before the medic arrive?

"BRAZIL 2003 "

Word : around 1 K

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Mark took a deep breath, his vision blurred, his limbs weak, he had to get out of here quickly before someone else crashed into him. Almost half the grid had crashed at turn three, the last survivors fighting in the Brazilian rain, Mark had been one of them before losing control.

He now found himself in the middle of the road, the wreckage of his vehicle surrounding him as he tried as best he could to get out of it. He felt gusts of wind whip past him as the survivors still in the race made their way across the minefield.

However, one of them didn't make it and Mark saw a car come into contact with one of the pieces of debris before bouncing off the railings, the front of the car completely destroyed. It all happened so quickly that Mark didn't have time to shout the Spaniard's name before he crashed. The deafening noise made the Australian grit his teeth as he hastily removed his seatbelt.

He only managed to do so after a few seconds of pure struggle, his hands trembling from stress not making the task any easier. His thoughts blurred as he ran towards the brunette, his legs loose, the Jaguar driver on the verge of collapsing. His torrent of thoughts had only one thing in common, tending towards the same point, a person to be precise.

Fernando Alonso

Guilt made his steps heavier, even as he hoped the Spaniard hadn't been too badly hurt. The dark-haired driver never stopped, the dopamine in his blood becoming his drug, the youngest unable to get rid of it, so if someone had told him to slow down, he obviously wouldn't have listened. His only objective was to overtake the one in front of him by any means necessary.

Mark knew that his crash could injure people, he sensed it himself, but now that he was in front of the carcass of Fernando's Formula 1 car, the Spaniard trying as best he could to get rid of it without succeeding, he felt like the world was falling apart.

Shit!

Why was he driving so badly! Fernando had been injured because of him, the Spaniard grumbling in his native tongue before stopping suddenly, staring at the Australian with a frightened look in his eyes.

"What's up? Nando, are you okay? I'll help you out!

- Mark.... My leg's stuck... I can't feel it...

The older man's heart rate suddenly increased, as he imagined all that could have happened as a result of this injury.

Was Fernando going to stop driving because of him?

The Spaniard was born for speed! And Mark was going to crush his dreams.... The brunette will hold a grudge against him for the rest of his life, he's sure of it. He'll look at him with a look of disgust, never forgetting the man he loved but who destroyed him.

At least that's what Mark hopes .... Perhaps Fernando will never want to speak to him again, quickly forgetting him and their life together, their time together, their stolen kiss, their shared laugh....

Mark never wanted to do that.... Damn it.... Why didn't he pay more attention? Why did he keep driving through the torrential rain?

Why did- Mark! Damn it! Mark, help me! shouted Fernando, bringing the Australian's thoughts back into focus.

- Shit, shit, shit," said the Australian quickly, "I'm so sorry Nando, I.....

He hastily removed Fernando's helmet, throwing it on the ground as he checked his condition, the younger man looked lost, his jaw clenched in pain, blood trickling down his left flank.

- Just.... Get me out of here, then we can talk again, the others are still driving, I thought I saw you dead as you ran towards me. Fernando said, his eyes fluttering with fatigue, his head spinning as he felt part of his body bleed to death.

Mark couldn't hear very well, too busy undoing the Renault driver's seatbelt, his trembling hands still failing him as his stress mounted.

- I had to do it, I wasn't going to let you get hurt in the middle of a race!

- You're more likely to die walking on the circuit than I am to get hurt! Fernando replied fervently, his raised voice creating a headache.

Mark preferred to ignore the Spaniard's comment, too busy trying to get him out of the carcass of the vehicle. A sigh of relief left his lips as he finally managed to remove the seatbelt, and he lifted the Spaniard up, but the latter cried out in pain, Mark putting him down immediately.

- It's my leg.... The Spaniard explained breathlessly, the pain making him increasingly irritable and unstable.

Mark bit his lip, a habit he'd had since he was very young, indicating his stress and fear. Fernando had laughed about it once, saying he looked like a lingerie model trying to look sexy.

- Hang on, hang on... I'm going to try something, it might hurt you.

He tried once more to pull the Spaniard, this time more gently, but it was no use, the dark-haired man always screamed in pain when they tried to pull him out of the Renault.

- Mierda", said the Spaniard into the wind, a small tear of pain running down his right cheek.

Mark's anxiety reached its peak, terrified of the consequences of this collision, which he had caused entirely himself.

He can't do it...

He can't help the youngest, even though he promised him.... Promised to be by his side, promised to help him despite their rivalry, promised never to harm him. These weren't promises made in haste, nor written on a contract to make it "official", but they were the basis of their relationship, a shared trust that seemed almost indestructible.

Mark could do nothing but watch the agonised cries of the man he loved as he was finally rescued by competent people, the Australian's helplessness tearing at his insides, a fish making his thoughts fuzzy and his movements slow, his only certainty being his inability to help Fernando.

"Sorry, Nando, sorry" he whispered to himself, as he felt the Spaniard's gaze on him, his eyes watering and his jaw clenched with pain. The Spaniard did nothing, apart from perhaps preventing Mark from looking at his bleeding leg, using his voice as a distraction.

"It's nothing, Cabron, just a scratch! The Renault driver assured him, before leaving for good with the medical team, who were carrying him and preventing the various cameras around and Mark from being able to see the damage caused to the driver's body.

Standing up to face the fruits of his deeds, Mark finally felt the rain stop, bringing this tortuous race to a close. The rain reminded him of a distant conversation he'd had with the Renault driver.

Shit....

He had promised a candlelit dinner after the race....

Having already imagined Fernando's smile when he learned that Mark had learnt some Asturian recipes just for him....

The hospital was the last thing on his mind.

But perhaps if he brought back a dish on the sly, the Spaniard would still be happy.

It was this glimmer of hope that kept Mark from collapsing under the guilt of his actions.

--------------------------------------

HAPPY WEBBONSO WEDNESDAY!!!

You made me laugh because I've already written about Brazil 2003 in one of my fanfics, and it was a webbonso

OK, I'll stop talking!

I hope you enjoyed the fic 🤗

For those who want to do a request too

I started a One-shot , but I'm pretty lazy , so there is what I write until now ( I just want to share more Gadri content ) :

Is he good enough?

He knows he's not a bad player or even an irritating team-mate, let alone a selfish companion. But faced with Pedri, all these assertions and certainties seemed to melt like snow in the sun. The older man was, for the Sevillian, the most perfect thing God could have created, and he's not even a believer. But when he stared a little too intently at the black man, he detected a little divine something, perhaps it was in his brown eyes, or even his three-day beard. On a less physical note, the Tenerife native's voice enchanted him, as much as his laugh or his pout. And he hasn't even mentioned his game yet. His passing, his dribbling, his shooting, everything was both precise and instinctive, creating a magic he had rarely seen in the sport he loved so much.

He trained with him almost every day and yet he still couldn't understand how Pedri did it. Everything about him exuded talent, this reading of the game could not after all come otherwise, a divine gift given only to the most deserving. And Gavi could attest to this, the two players sharing their long and gruelling training sessions, he could see the sweat beading, the tension building and the fatigue accumulating on his team-mate's face. Yet the man had something more, a flame that seemed to glow, a singular attitude that allowed him to do things Gavi could only imagine in his wildest dreams. And against this magic, the Sevillian knew he was no match.

It was a simple and unequivocal observation. Despite all Gavi's willpower and hard work, he would never reach the level of his elder.

That was one immutable certainty.

And the midfielder didn't need to accept it, it was obvious, a statement that matches had made unshakeable. He never complained about it, never even thought about it, after all there was nothing to complain about. This constant feeling of inferiority wasn't even bad in itself, Pedri was a generational talent, Gavi was a good player. A simple but important distinction. His dedication to the club wouldn't change a thing. Nor would his dedication to Pedri.

And perhaps therein lies the problem.

Gavi never felt inferior to Pedri, at least not in the most pessimistic view, they both contributed to the club, complemented each other, harmonised. His evil was more subtle but deeper. He wasn't good enough for Pedri. Not for the club. He knew that his loyalty to Barça was rewarded, that his play was appreciated, and that the fans adored him. But that didn't matter, a mere grit of sand in the desert that was Gavi's ego and confidence. What mattered was Pedri. How his team-mate spoke to him, looked at him, complimented him or even touched him.

All this attention Gavi was overflowing with, revelling in it, while at the same time dreading it. For Pedri was like the tide, it came and went, the Sevillian being only a poor believer who hoped that it would never go out again. But the sea was indomitable and if it didn't want you, it would spit you back towards its deadly rocks, leaving you to be torn apart by the threat you were enjoying earlier. Fortunately, the youngest had not yet experienced this. In fact, he was in the opposite situation. Actively drowning in the love and appreciation of the older man. He hoped to sink a little further every day, perhaps allowing himself to die, happy to be surrounded by everything that distracted him from his shattered ego. But he still had a lifejacket to pull him relentlessly back to the surface, a last glimmer of sanity to keep him from falling into that sweet ocean of attention.

And that reason was a simple fact:

Gavi wasn't going out with Pedri.

But the Sevillian intended to do something about it, despite his flagrant lack of qualities:

1 - He can't cook.

Squatting in Pedri's kitchen every week in the hope of scrounging up a few treats, he'd end up with a recipe he knew was impossible for him, and a ration of his favourite dishes that would be enough for a whole battalion.

2 - He can't drive.

The only time he was allowed to drive was under the supervision of one of his team-mates, despite the fact that he has a driving licence. The Tenerife native often took on this role, letting him have access to his car on clasico days, to, and I quote, "give myself an adrenaline shot by experiencing a near-death experience".

3 - He holds a grudge.

He's already almost fought with the older player over pranks that were months or even years ago. He didn't even do it to amuse the gallery, Gavi's memory causing him to have flashes of memory at the worst possible moment (he once remembered a particularly teasing expression from Pedri during a funeral).

4 - He's possessive.

He knows that some people like this trait in their partner, but it certainly wasn't the case for Pedri. What's more, Gavi had a deep attachment to innocuous objects. For example, he loved his shoelaces and hated having to wash them, even though they reeked of mud. The same went for a simple bracelet that he had refused to give away with his youngest cousins, who were barely 5 years old (sorry, but Pedri gave it to him, no one else had the right to this treasure).

That's it !

I hope I'm gonna finish this One-Shot , I like my " intro "

I actually write a fic , but idk what type of student would be Eric Garcia:

" Dépaysement "

Ships : Lance stroll / Esteban , background: Webbonso

Chapter : 1/?

Tags : emotional hurt/comfort , slow burn , Not traditional ABO

Word : 3.3 k

Summary:

Dépaysement : French word to describe the emotion felt when changing habits or environments. It often refers to the feelings associated with immersion in an unfamiliar environment, different from the original one.

"However, there was still one problem in Lance's life, a problem as annoying as it was addictive, always at Lance's side and terribly vital to the Canadian's routine. This problem came in the form of a person, a driver to be precise.

Esteban ocon"

PEDRI POTTER ! 🗣

( i'm gonna do the Gavi version later , after all they come as a pair )

( idk the name of the fic )

I don't know if I should write the next of this fic , Is chapter 1 good enough to write it ?

Mark was five years old when he woke up crying in his mother's bed, a burning sensation from his wrist to his left shoulder, far from uncomfortable, akin to medieval torture. He'd been taught that water extinguishes flames, so he ran with all his meager strength to the bathtub to soothe the ache, but it had no impact other than to make him shiver in the bathroom. He tried to call his father for help, but he was away on business, as was his mother, who had promised to return from her walk with the dog two hours ago.

He had no choice but to endure this ordeal, his tear reserve already dry, and his face full of snot. He cursed the witch who had cast this spell on him, for no one but an evil sorceress could have made him suffer this pain, as he had seen in the cartoon on TV. He wondered, however, if he'd made a mistake; every child like him who'd been punished by a witch had made a mistake. He hadn't eaten too much candy like Hanzel and Gretel, or trusted strangers like Snow White, perhaps because he'd forgotten to feed the dog! His mother had already scolded him several times for this. So he promised himself, in the solitude of his living room, to always look after Pluto, his Australian shepherd, like his brother. He'd make Pluto play with him every day, and in time, he'd even teach him English - if he could do that, so could Pluto.

His mother finally returned after 30 minutes of pure torment, Pluto at her heels, the dog immediately licking Mark's tears under the young woman's appalled gaze. Breathless from crying, the dark-haired boy grabbed his mother's skirt with his working hand, begging her to help him.

"Mom! My arm is burning!"

She took her child from her arms, drying her tears by whispering words to him. What kind of mother was she to let her son suffer like this! She kissed his forehead and checked his arm, where now stood a scrawl-like set of letters that together formed two words: Fernando Alonso.

The moment she touched the mark, the burning suddenly stopped, the sudden change making her poor son's head spin. She made him sit on her lap, ready at last to talk about what would be a very important subject in her son's life.

"It's all right, darling, you've finally found your soulmate. she explained in a soft, pleasant voice.

- Soul-mate... ?

Mark had heard that word somewhere before, when he watched TV shows with his mother, and people always referred to it, either positively or negatively. But no one had warned him that his soulmate was going to hurt him so badly, so Fernando must have really hated him to burn his whole arm.

- Yes, soul mate. When someone's born, they're linked with two people, a soulmate and an soul-opponent. The soulmate is someone who's made for you, often in love, like me and your father, but it can also be a friend or even a family member. And then there's the opponent soul, who's like your sworn enemy, you know Batman?

- Yes! He's so cool!

- If they had a soulmate and a soul-opponent, it would be Robin, because they complement each other perfectly, and the Joker, because they hate each other and will do anything to fight the other.

- Do you know your soul-mate? Mark asked, looking amazed at this new horizon.

- Yes, I do. He was a very bad person in my life, so try to stay as far away from him as possible.

- What about Fernando?! Is he my soul mate or my soul-opponent ?

- That's for you to decide. You'll understand as soon as you talk to him.

- Mom... Do people exist without a soul mate?

- Yes, there are. she says with a nostalgic smile. There aren't many, but they do exist. You mustn't insult them or hit them! Tell yourself that they, at least, can choose anyone, they don't have to follow any rules.

- I'd rather not have had a soul mate then! Fernando really hurt me!

- It's not his fault, he's only just been born, and it's incredible to have a soulmate, it's like being completely whole.

- And if Fernando dies! Mark exclaimed with a frightened look on his face, "If he doesn't have a Fernando to spend his days with, who will he have? Pluto? No! His mother prefers Pluto to him, she'll forget all about him!

- So you'll be looking for someone who doesn't have a soulmate or who has also lost his soulmate like you have, living with the person you're meant to is not synonymous with happiness, as I told you there are people without a soulmate who live their lives very well."

Mark remains a little skeptical about this explanation: if Fernando dies, he'll fall back on his soul-opponent, and even if they hate each other, they'll have to learn to coexist together. Besides, it's hard to hate him, as his father said, and he's always right.

One last question came to him as he stroked the mark on the back of his wrist, which was blood-red, whereas his mother's was golden. Perhaps it was because Fernando was a boy? Did it matter if he fell in love with Fernando, he'd never seen two boys kiss, nor two girls. He then looked for his mother, who had started cooking for the two of them, eager to learn more about what would surely dictate his life later on.

"Why is your mark golden and mine isn't? he asked plaintively, having always preferred yellow to red, even if they liked the harmony of these two colors when black was added to the equation.

- Because I've met my soul mate, the same thing will happen to you when you meet Fernando.

- Will it burn again? Mark asked, pouting. The last thing he wanted was to get burned again by Fernando, especially not when he met him.

- I don't know, I was born with my mark so I don't remember anything, but I felt a slight tingling when I met your father, it was nice. said his mother with a gentle smile, making her son taste the sauce and lick his lips.

- I hope he gets burnt too! At least he'll experience what I've experienced! Mark finally exclaimed, before running off to his room to his mother's laughter.

He grabbed his cuddly toy and gave it a long hug, trying to forget the torture he'd been through an hour ago. Cuddling cures everything, as his father said, and he's always right.

And what else? Should he learn Spanish?

--

Mark is eleven years old when a gentle tingling sensation in his lower back puts him to sleep. It feels like a caress and seems to relax all his muscles, which are tense from Mr. Johnson's incomprehensible history lesson. A beha smile appears on his lips, which makes his friend at the other end of the classroom laugh. He cherishes the gentle caresses until recess, when he is confronted by his friends about the nature of his cartoonish expressions.

"It's my new brand of soul that just arrived. he explains, to the surprised looks of his classmates.

He'd been waiting six years for his other mark, the person he'd love or hate for the rest of his life. And he'd learned so much more about the subject, here's a quick summary:

1. The color of the mark has no influence on whether the person is a soul-mate or a soul-contrary, red is not synonymous with bad, and blue or green is not synonymous with good.

2. People with a single mark exist, either because the other soul-mate has already died at birth, or because a single person combines the soul-mate and soul-opposite attributes; research is still in full swing on this question.

3. Never reveal the name of your soulmate to a stranger. It's very private and could get you into trouble.

4. Trying to find your soul-mate at all costs is pointless: it's totally random, and some people never meet their soul-mate.

5. A mark can take years to come, you have to be patient until the end, some people have their mark when they are adults and their soulmate is their child.

6. Marks can be on any part of the body, most often on the arm, but not always.

7. Having two male soulmates is weird (he learned it from his two best friends).

- Really?! Man... Eleven years difference with someone, I didn't know you liked kids that much. mocked his friend with a perverse expression, quickly followed by the rest of the group.

- No! Besides, I don't care about soul mates, I'd meet them sooner or later, so..." he said nonchalantly, hoping to hide his nervousness behind his i-don't-care air.

His friends took him at face value, and quickly changed the subject under Mark's unspoken entreaties. It was a good thing his friends weren't trying to get under his shirt, or he'd be in big trouble.

He spent the day with mild excitement, wondering what name had appeared on his back. He ran home despite the fact that he hated physical exertion, slamming his bedroom door and taking off his shirt with a deafening crash. His father would surely argue with him about it later, but his soul mate was more important.

He stood in front of his bedroom mirror, looking for the angle that would allow him to perfectly read the name on the small of his back. He managed to read a few letters: S , B , I , A , V , T , L.

And after several minutes in which he tried increasingly outlandish poses, he was finally able to read the name in full: Sebastian Vettel.

His body immediately froze; he hadn't imagined a name other than masculine, but seeing it in real life changed the whole picture... The name was far too high to be hidden by boxer shorts, but far too low not to be visible if his shirt was pulled up a little. He's ruined! Completely ruined! What will his friends think?

His anxious gaze fell on his wrist, nobody had ever paid attention to his arms, and he hadn't seen anyone trying to read what was written on them. If he can't hide Sebastian, he'll hide Fernando. Because even if there's the possibility that it's totally platonic, the looks of disgust he'll get won't be fictional.

Mark likes women, but he doesn't share his desire to go out with them, more out of laziness than real lack of attraction. He finds them beautiful, attractive and intelligent, but men... He likes them too, he definitely doesn't let his eyes wander in the locker room during gym class, but he's already seen attractive men and enjoyed looking at them. All this is a purely scientific, objective judgement, he's only got eyes, and knows how to recognize beauty.

Besides, German women have always been more his type, beautiful blondes with blue eyes have always caught his eye. Much more so than brunettes with golden eyes.

What's more, his father had advised him not to learn Spanish, and he's always right.

Don't forget , Mark's dad is always right. ☝️

"His husband"

Chapters : 3/3

Words : 9 k

Tags : Fluff , domestic fluff , misunderstanding, wedding fluff , Hurt / comfort

SUMMARY:

Daniel had thought it was a dream when Max had called him that, but had he really just said that? A beatific smile formed on his lips as Max fell asleep, oblivious to the impact of his words.

Or 5 times Max inadvertently calls Daniel "his husband" and once he says it knowingly.

REQUEST ARE OPEN :

1. Only F1 RPF / Football RPF

2. Only Driver X Driver / Footballer X Footballer ( ❌ X OC or X reader )

3. Not smut / nsfw ( okay for some innuendo but nothing explicit )

4. I write about specific ships , if your ship is not here so I don't write it ( they can be a Background ships ) :

✓✓ : it's a ship I KNOW

✓ : it's a ship I know we'll

~ : it's a ship where i'm not sure to write well

• : It's a ship where I don't read a lot of fic

| : Only in a platonic way

-- F1--

- Maxiel ( ✓)

- Brocedes (~)

- Yukierre (✓)

- Lesteban (✓)

- Webbonso(✓✓)

- Landoscar (~)

- Charlos (✓)

- Hulknussen (~)

- Galex ( ~ )

- Simi(•)

- Versainz ( | )

- CarCar ( | )

--Football--

- Gadri ( ✓)

- Eric Garcia/ Ferran ( ~ )

- Cubayamal ( ✓ )

- Cressi ( ~ )

- Serard ( ✓✓ )

- Jude / Mbappé ( ✓ )

- Bravertz ( ~ )

5. I'm okay with any type of trope except those who are illegal/immoral ( Mafia Au ✓ / Brother-in-law or Step-brother ❌ )

6. I give myself the right to refuse requests

(I'll often give an explanation but I won't force myself to do it if I don't see the point)

7. I only write in the third person , I don't care if it's a pov omniscient, internal or external ( like you want )

8. I can write in English or in French

That's it !

You can ask me in " Writing request/ ask "

Bye ! 👋